


Number 3, Privet Drive

by vivi1138



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Background Polyamory, Background Relationships, Domestic Fluff, Don't add to Goodreads, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Harry Potter Gets the Love He Deserves, Harry is a little bean, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23025043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivi1138/pseuds/vivi1138
Summary: Harry James and Draco Lucius Potter, also known as Harry Jim Evans and Draco Ignis Black, live at Number 3, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.In which Draco and Harry travel back in time to give Little Harry the childhood he deserves. Or they try to.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 41
Kudos: 596





	Number 3, Privet Drive

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [wunderseltsam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wunderseltsam/pseuds/first%20grade%20writing) who agreed to beta this story!  
> \---------------  
>  _Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea behind this fic. The rest belongs to J.K.Rowling._  
>  \---------------  
> To know what the background polyamory is, see end notes.

“This is absolutely ridiculous, and I still cannot believe we did it. No, in fact, I do believe it, but what was I thinking, going along with your insanity?” Draco stared at the Muggle ID card proclaiming his new identity in bold letters. “Just look at that picture, for Merlin’s sake!”

Draco Ignis Black, born June 5, 1960, in Locronan, France, from British parents. The picture looked horrendous and didn’t even move. One would think that after living with a Half-Blood for the past four years, he would be used to it, but that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? At home, they even had a computer, which he did find quite handy, and Draco checked his smartphone ten times an hour, but nothing weirded him out more than still pictures. They were unnatural to him, somehow. What felt worse was the absence of his husband’s last name on that shiny new ID. 

Having married none other than Scarhead a year ago, Draco had been glad to get rid of the Malfoy name, which had clung to him like a bad smell ever since he’d taken the Dark Mark. Draco Potter had been his name ever since. Still was, always would be, except _here_.

Indeed, _here_ , Draco was sitting at the kitchen table of a small apartment in London, the _Daily Prophet_ in front of him. No point in reading it. He still bought it every single day because it was proof of Harry’s idiocy. It helped him remember that the year was not 2010, but 1989, should he ever doubt it. He hadn’t brought his phone with him—not that it would work, anyway—but he was still itching to check it. 

1989 in the Muggle world was odd. The magical world was rather unchanged in 2010; people still wore the same clothes, listened to Celestina Warbeck and the Weird Sisters, and supported the Holyhead Harpies or the Falmouth Falcons. Muggles, though? The technological advancements alone were mind-blowing. Late 80’s fashion made Draco’s eyebrows twitch and what was the deal with pop music? The song playing on the radio right now irked him immensely.

“Just wait a few years,” Harry said, noticing the dark glare directed at the cheap radio they’d modified to work around magic. 

Draco turned it off with a flick of his wand. “What happens in a few years? Us being back where we should be?”

“1996 happens. You’ll see.” Harry opened the letter addressed to his name and smiled, then looked at his new ID and driving license. “Harry Jim Evans, July 31, 1960, born in Edinburgh. Well, here we are, proper citizens.”

“Astounding.”

Draco thought it had been overkill to create false papers justifying their existence in the Muggle world, but Harry didn’t, and what Harry wanted, Harry usually got. Their magical identities hadn’t been that difficult to forge because Draco, like any good Slytherin, had prepared Goblin-authenticated papers before they left. They’d fabricated entire branches of existing family trees with ties to their own blood: Draco pretended to be the son of Marius Black, a squib who was, in fact, a distant cousin. Harry kept his mother’s name to explain his eyes. Not that they would walk around without any glamour on their face, but still. 

If Harry had planned the entire adventure on his own, they wouldn’t even have money. Did he expect Draco to access the Malfoy vaults? When his younger self was nine years old? This kind of brain fart was why Harry needed Draco in his life.

And Draco needed him too, desperately, which was the reason he’d followed him into the past. To fix things. For their tiny selves. Too bad they’d miscalculated and landed almost a decade off their goal.

Their initial idea was to go back in time and prevent Snape from hearing the Prophecy. The consequences of this, however, would have been too significant. In 1981, Voldemort was winning the war, so if he never went after the Potters, he wouldn’t be defeated. As much as it had pained Draco to tell Harry that saving his parents wasn’t possible without taking huge risks, they had to think rationally.

They also couldn’t remove Baby Harry from the Dursleys without putting him in danger, but they could help him in different ways. They didn’t mean to arrive when he was already nine years old. It changed their plan again.

Said plan was written on a large piece of paper stuck to the fridge, and at the moment, Harry was staring at it like he often did; as if the list was a puzzle he was determined to solve. He looked particularly handsome this morning, with his long hair pulled in a messy bun and his short, scraggly beard. Gone was the starved child hiding under clothes much too large for him. Being a happily married Wardmaster and spending so much time in the field on assignments with Bill Weasley or the Aurors agreed with him. Draco, as an Unspeakable, felt like he couldn’t compete with his physical appearance (thankfully, Harry’s sense of style was as terrible as ever). While Draco had always been rather pretty for a boy, taking after his mother, he was a bookworm, and his job didn’t require the use of his muscles. He was still extremely pale and had none of Harry’s athletic frame; his body was softer, though he hadn’t gained much weight over the years. But he did not doubt that if he didn’t stop eating sweets, he would regret many of his decisions in a few years. He wasn’t too bothered anyway: Harry worshipped his body and Draco still liked what he saw in the mirror, soft belly or not.

He enjoyed what he saw right now even more, though. Harry nibbled on his lower lip in that sexy way that made Draco’s knees weak. The man was still naive enough not to realise how some of his gestures affected him. Draco shifted in his seat, sighed, pushed a cup of Earl Grey towards him and gave him a pointed look. Time to stop complaining about their shared insanity. 

“So, _darling_ , up for some Slytherin thinking?” 

Harry blinked. “Did I zone out again?” At Draco’s exaggerated nod, he snorted. “Okay. I still agree it’ll do more harm than good to kidnap me—err, Little Harry.” 

Good! It had taken Draco hours to win that argument. 

“If we change too many things, we won’t know what could happen, and that could ruin everything. On the other hand, I don’t want Little Harry to kill Quirrell or a Basilisk. Sirius also doesn’t deserve to stay in Azkaban just because we’re scared.” Harry took a sip of his tea. “We need to make Little Harry’s life better without making him leave his home.”

He waved his wand at the paper, circling “Dealing with the Dursleys” wordlessly. Draco crossed his arms. This was probably the easiest part of their endeavour, but he wasn’t sure how to pull it off yet. It would be easy to bespell the Dursleys, but the Ministry would notice—oh, no, they wouldn’t. Draco gasped and snapped his fingers. “The trace!” he whispered with a shark-like grin on his lips. “He’s nine, the trace isn’t active!”

Oh, that was _perfect!_ The trace activated when a child got his first wand; otherwise, thousands of children would get warnings for underage magic before going to Hogwarts. Occurrences would still be registered, unless… yes, all they had to do was register Number 4, Privet Drive, as the dwelling of an adult wizard. Or tamper with the wards. Draco shared his thoughts aloud, recognising the glimmer of hope and anticipation in Harry’s eyes. 

“Security-wise, wards are a better option,” Harry replied. He was right, of course. Registering Privet Drive would attract attention if anyone looked at exception files since they were rarely modified. With Lucius using the Ministry as his personal palace, it was too risky. On the other hand, touching these wards might alert Dumbledore. Draco groaned. It seemed they were back to square one.

Square one being that night, three months ago, in 2010. Draco had wanted nothing else but go to sleep after an admittedly brilliant blowjob when Harry had rushed back into the room, stark naked, his toothbrush in hand.

“The Time Chamber!” he’d said, grinning. “Draco, we can change everything!”

And that was what Draco had gotten himself into, just because he’d accepted a new role as Unspeakable Time Lord. He hadn’t known why Harry had laughed so hard at that; he’d since corrected his scandalous lack of culture and spent hours discussing the merits of Jack Harkness’ arse with a very supportive Hermione. Croaker, Head Unspeakable, had needed someone to take full responsibility for one of the most dangerous areas of the Department of Mysteries. The job was fascinating. Studying the magic of time, its possibilities, the effects of time travel—Draco loved it all.

Harry, on the other hand, had been quieter than usual since then. Draco should have known he’d been thinking about the possibilities arising from his position much earlier.

Unable to say no when he knew how important it was for him, Draco had agreed, after discussing it at length. Without using a time turner, they wouldn’t end up in their own past and accidentally destroy the universe. They wouldn’t erase their memories either. Croaker called this the Multiverse theory, and today Draco was quite aware that it was no theory at all. There was no real point in changing the past when it would have no effect on their own lives, but Harry was determined, wanting at least one version of him to know his Godfather.

Following that night, they’d argued about Dumbledore’s meddling and what they should avoid doing if they didn’t want the bearded, well-intentioned old fool messing with their plans. They’d ultimately agreed to keep him in the dark as much as possible if it didn’t mean sacrificing a child’s well-being.

Harry had known the risks by the time they’d left; it had been no real surprise when their careful calculations dumped them in the wrong year. It could have been much worse, though. 

And things had gone too slow for both of them since their arrival. It may have been three months, but administrative procedures were snail-paced if you wanted to avoid Gringotts, which they did. Goblins had magic Draco didn’t understand well; they would know who they were if they stepped into the bank, and Harry didn’t trust them.

“So, wards,” Draco repeated, an idea forming in his head. “Temporary?”

Harry shrugged. “Easier if they’re not.”

“Mh. Maybe if we use wizard-space...” He cast an erasing spell on the _Daily Prophet_ and grabbed a pencil, holding it out to Harry. “Draw the house.”

It hurt Draco to see his jaw tensing when he sketched the cupboard, and it saddened him to know the size of it. He was pretty sure it was appropriately scaled. Spending so long in a small place left traces, and just like Draco would never forget his Azkaban cell, Harry’s cupboard wouldn’t go away. Unlike Harry though, Draco hadn’t spent ten years in it, only a brief stint for a few months after the war.

Harry finished sketching and slid the paper across the table. Draco stared at the house and ended up drawing a thick line inside the cupboard. He then created a dotted square against the outer wall of the house, its size matching the living room. 

He wanted to add a small door inside the cupboard so that Little Harry could crawl into a much wider space at will. If they could modify the wards, they would be able to perform enough magic to not only make this happen but turn it invisible to Muggles. It would need to be underground, at least partially, so no one would bump into it by accident. Muggle-repelling spells would be required just in case. He also wished to make the Dursleys forget about him, if at all possible, and homeschool him for the next two years. An ambitious project, but Draco hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin solely for his family name.

Harry tilted his head and crossed his hands on the table. “You forget the neighbours.” 

_Drat._ “Number 3?”

“It’s a classic suburban area. Houses are basically stuck together.”

Draco winced. Dating Harry meant knowing more about the Muggle world than he’d ever thought possible and that included Britain’s strange obsession with copying and pasting homes. If Privet Drive was like that… well, they’d just have to deal with it.

He knew how. 

“Let’s buy Number 3 and move in.”

He imagined his father’s expression if he heard that and couldn’t contain a snort. Harry’s lips twitched. 

“We need a place to live, and I’m getting rather tired of whatever this dump is,” he added, glaring around the small studio they were renting, the only one they’d been able to get without Muggle papers or bank accounts (magic helped). He took Harry’s hand and smiled, aware of why the man would be reluctant. “We’ll refurbish it completely. It won’t look the same, I promise. I would never make you live there otherwise.”

Harry’s fingers gently squeezed his wrists. “I know. It’s—okay, it’s the best way to protect me. Little Me, I mean. Bugger, that’s confusing. We’re back to our first issue if we do that, though. We’d have to register Number 3.”

“Not if we put it under a Fidelius.”

“We’ll need magic to do that.”

“And we can do it from within the wards of Number 4 after we modify them. Before you tell me that the Ministry will detect the changes, they won’t, not with that kind of magic—seriously, are you the Wardmaster here?”

There it was, the eye-rolling. Draco’s smirk grew. 

Harry looked at the drawing and frowned. “You know, that means his room will be in our basement. That’s creepy.”

“You watch too many crime documentaries.” He thought about extending the blood wards with runes, to be sure. A Fidelius was almost foolproof, and Little Harry’s room would be included in it, but it couldn’t hurt to shroud it in Lily Potter’s protection either. He knew many ways to do so and all of them required to keep the initial location of the wards physically linked to the extension, which explained why they couldn’t just kidnap the kid. As Harry often said, tampering with blood wards for anything other than extending them, carried unimaginable risks.

He _Accio_ ’d one of the books he’d taken with him through time, a 2008 release of banned runic rituals only certain Unspeakables had the clearance to read. It included time travel, but also powerful concealment magic that could make a Dark Lord’s plans very easy to realise. With this and the invisibility cloak, the Ministry would never notice anything.

Harry stifled a yawn, scrunching up his nose (why was he always so cute?) and stood up, Draco’s eyes following his movements. He walked closer, placed an enchanted Galleon next to his hand and gave him a soft smile that Draco returned. The Galleon was inspired by Dumbledore’s Army enchanted coins but vibrated instead of heating up, mimicking mobile phones. Draco tilted his chin and closed his eyes for a kiss, relishing in the feeling of his husband’s hand rubbing his back, before opening the book and getting ready to scribble notes in the margins. 

“I’ll have a look at Privet Drive,” Harry told him, and he kissed the top of his head. “See how much money they’ll accept for Number 3 and what the wards feel like.”

Draco kept his gaze locked on the text and reminded him to use a Glamour. The ones they’d chosen to hide themselves were subtle: the shape of their eyes, the colour of their hair—a shade darker for Draco, a ruby undertone for Harry. It was more than enough. Harry had abandoned his obsession with round-shaped glasses a few years back, and with his long hair and beard, he wasn’t his father’s mirror image at all. Draco, with his short, artfully ruffled hair, pierced ears, elegant borderless glasses and full sleeve tattoo concealing the Dark Mark, didn’t look like a Pureblood prat anymore, so Glamouring himself was almost too much. They were safe.

He heard a whispered spell and Harry Disapparated.

***

The most tedious part of a runic warding ritual was the placement of hundreds of carved rocks at the edge of existing wards—especially blood wards that made his Dark Mark hurt. Having to carry the weight of an obscure concealment spell on his shoulders while Harry was gallivanting under his Invisibility Cloak made it ten times worse. Draco’s knees did not appreciate his current position. Crouching, trying to forget the sting along his forearm, he shivered. It was a cold September evening, and he should have known he was underdressed. 

The moon shone above him, the small stones glittering under its light. When he levitated the last one, closing the circle, the ground shook, and the runes came alive, startling him. Harry’s invisible palm rested on his shoulder then helped him up. Draco stayed close enough to feel the other man’s warmth against his back but didn’t make any further movement. It seemed that no one felt that small earthquake, deeply asleep as they were. According to Harry’s stories, perhaps Vernon and Dudley’s loud snores made their beds shake too much to notice anything. Draco couldn’t help but snicker at the thought. He didn’t particularly mind adult-Dudley, whom he’d met because Harry had invited him to their wedding, but Vernon? In 2007, he’d punched Draco hard enough to send him to St. Mungo and Harry had gotten in trouble with the Ministry for hexing him in return. Oh, how he wished he could curse the man. 

Patience, a little voice said, and the wards sparkled. It seemed they could sense evil intent and Draco definitely wasn’t thinking of being kind to Vernon. 

When the light dimmed, Draco stayed outside the circle, trusting his ears to tell him where Harry was as he walked in the wet grass. He heard him murmuring spell after spell above the area where Little Harry’s future home would be, and eventually, he felt his hand grabbing his wrist. They Apparated back to their studio, and Draco groaned in relief.

This hadn’t been fun at all.

He cancelled the concealment spell. Harry removed his invisibility cloak on the way to the bathroom, and as the water from the shower splashed inside the small cubicle on the other side of the wall, Draco fell onto the bed and inhaled Harry’s scent, nose buried into his pillow.

He ended up hugging the pillow to his chest and staring at the wall. Back in their time, he could spend hours daydreaming, content. This bed wasn’t comfy enough for that, but tomorrow, they’d live at Number 3, and their new bed would have an expensive mattress, luxury sheets… he couldn’t wait. 

When they’d decided to travel back in time, the comfort of their home had been one of the reasons for their hesitation. Their friends were another. 

Draco’s only real friends, Pansy and Greg, had tried to keep him from leaving at first. As he grew older, Draco became more distant with the people who reminded him of his mistakes, but those two stuck with him no matter what. Unfortunately, they had left England shortly after the war. In these quiet moments, when he was alone in a nearly silent room, a sad smile would find its way onto his lips, and he would wonder if they were happy. Now, the distance was much greater. His friends were nine years old here. He’d lost them because he chose to follow his husband.

A husband who was grieving for his godson, the family of redheads who had more or less adopted him, and the woman Draco had spent years insulting. But it was Harry: for him, seeing Sirius, Remus, Fred, Colin and Tonks alive and well was worth the sacrifice. 

As for Draco, he lived to see Harry’s smile, so he didn’t mind the ache in his chest when he was deep in thoughts. It would go away eventually.

Warm hands slid around his waist and lips pressed a lingering kiss on the back of his neck. Instinctively, Draco canted his hips, enjoying being the little spoon. Harry always knew when he was a bit too nostalgic. 

“You okay?”

Draco closed his eyes and basked in Harry’s affection. His left hand found its way under his shirt, and the feeling of Harry’s ring against his skin grounded him. He let out a sigh. “Yeah, I’m good.”

When morning came, Draco didn’t remember falling asleep in his clothes, but his mood was excellent. Sleeping in Harry’s arms healed every ache.

The kitchen was only three steps away from the bed, so he was grateful for his husband’s thoughtfulness: Harry was already up and busy preparing breakfast, but there was no smell to bother him because he cast a bubble charm around the stove. One of the many reasons he loved the man and cherished every moment spent with him.

Ridiculous sentimentality or not, Draco wasn’t ashamed to be in love. 

***

 _Harry James and Draco Lucius Potter, also known as Harry Jim Evans and Draco Ignis Black, live at Number 3, Privet Drive, Little Whinging,_ _Surrey_.

The piece of parchment vanished in a tiny burst of flames, and the house shimmered into view. Anyone looking at it would see the same house that had always been there and none of the changes Draco and Harry planned on carrying out. Even the real garden was hidden under an illusion. 

Draco stepped inside the empty house. He glanced to his left, saw the cupboard and immediately destroyed it, leaving the whole area under the stairs empty. He heard Harry snort and turned around to find him grinning like a loon and looking up at the ceiling.

“Well, good thing the house didn’t come crashing down on us.”

Draco sniffed haughtily. “You underestimate my talent.” He had, after all, redecorated their house after they got married. 

“Never.” Harry kissed his cheek and headed towards the kitchen, floor plan in hand. “I’ll let you dig if you want a basement for Little Me.”

Digging, as it turned out, was a piece of cake for a wizard, especially one who had obscure knowledge. Using the new space under the stairs, Draco outlined a square and vanished a portion of the floor. He then used a spell to quickly reach the foundations of the house, before lengthening them, burrowing deeper. Another spell was used to Transfigure the soil so it wouldn’t cause issues down the line and he used the debris from the cupboard to create a sturdy wooden staircase. Transfiguration was amazing.

He summoned small floating bulbs of light to see what he was doing and vanished the dirt all around him. In his Moleskine bag, he had enough random materials to get what he needed with magic: soon, a slab of concrete covered the soil, then he placed a few layers of isolation and another solid block. Walls rose. Pipes extended and connected, a magical heating system and water pump replaced Muggle machinery. He now had two rooms in front of him: the smaller one was quickly turned into a tiled bathroom. A shower, sink and toilet grew from the resized furniture Draco had put in his bag yesterday, and when he connected the pipes, he heard a shout from above and rolled his eyes. What had Scarhead done now?

He climbed up the newly built stairs, and his eyes widened. His lips twitched, and he sighed in fond exasperation. Harry was drenched from head to toe, holding a faucet and glaring at the kitchen sink. 

“Perhaps we shouldn’t work on pipes at the same time,” Draco proposed, and Harry flicked water drops at him. “What are you doing?” The kitchen was an absolute mess. It wouldn’t surprise him if Harry decided to redecorate with a hammer. 

With a shrug, Harry smiled sheepishly. “That kitchen was a carbon copy of the Dursley’s. I want it to be _ours_.”

Theirs, back in 2010, was inspired by the Burrow without the mess. Draco didn’t think he would like that sort of countryside cottage look, all-natural wood with knots, but it had grown on him. It was comfortable, cute and homey, and he fully supported Harry’s idea to transform Number 3 that way. It would be easier for both of them if they could feel at home here.

“If you need any help, yell.” 

Draco smirked at the mess and went back to his work, even if the effect of the wards on his arm was uncomfortable. The bathroom was done a few minutes later, as were the floor and walls of the bedroom. He added a closet, desk, chair, bedside table, double bed, bookshelf and even an incredibly fluffy carpet under the bed, then placed magical windows that would show the back garden despite being underground. He could spell them to display anything, like some of the windows in the Slytherin dorms, but preferred to keep it simple. When he was finished, he looked around, wiping sweat off his brow. He couldn’t wait for Little Harry to see this. Now, all he had to do was go shopping (and help his husband with the rest of the house).

They’d be happy here, he decided. More importantly, a lonely child would have a safe home to live in.

***

When Harry Potter came home from school on the first Friday of October, he dragged his feet, hand clenched tightly around his latest report card. He’d done everything he could to score lower than his cousin, but Dudley’s results had been so bad that he had still received better marks. 

He knew what it meant. At the very least, no food. Perhaps he would be locked into his cupboard again for the weekend with only a bucket to relieve himself. If Uncle Vernon didn’t slap him, he would count himself lucky. Freaks weren’t allowed to be better than Diddykins in any way. 

Before stepping inside the house, he glanced at the neighbour’s car, a Ford Escort, and idly wondered why he felt that something was missing; as if there were details here that he should remember but couldn’t quite catch. He had only seen glimpses of the men who had moved in a week ago, but Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn’t approve of them in the slightest and wanted to call the police on them for “obscene behaviour” (whatever that meant). Aunt Petunia was continually staring at their garden from the window, but they were never outside. Harry thought anyone his family disliked that much must have been brilliant. 

He expected his report to be snatched by his aunt, his arm twisted, while her shrill voice told him how useless he was. What he got instead was bewildering:

Aunt Petunia ignored his presence completely. He decided to hide his report until they remembered to ask for it. He opened his cupboard and slid the piece of paper under his small cot. Believing it would be best to start his chores quickly, he went through the motions like a robot. 

Clean the bathroom. Start the laundry. When he entered the kitchen to see what recipe his aunt wanted him to follow for dinner, he found her already busy cooking, three plates on the table. Harry wasn’t allowed to eat at the table unless Aunt Marge visited, but Aunt Petunia never cooked if she could avoid it, so what was happening? Worried, he called her name, but she didn’t even look at him. He tapped her gently on the arm, yet she didn’t seem to feel him. 

“I’ll just—I’ll take some leftovers, okay?”

Nothing. Was this some kind of trap? A joke? Or a miracle? As quietly as he could, Harry opened the fridge and found a small Tupperware with some pasta from yesterday. No sauce, no butter, but it was food and Harry wasn’t picky. He hurried to his cupboard when he heard Uncle Vernon’s car pulling into the driveway and ate his pasta slowly, chewing each bite thoroughly, just in time for Dudley to come back from wherever he had been.

He readied himself for loud banging and insults—and again, nothing happened. He could hear Aunt Petunia fussing over her precious Dudders, followed by the sound of silverware on plates. Like a frightened mouse, Harry barely moved while he ate.

When he pushed the Tupperware aside, he noticed, for the first time, that something was different about his living space. He knew every nook and cranny of his cupboard, could even see the pattern on the wood under each step above his head in his sleep. That extra door had not been there before.

Harry’s eyes went wide. 

He remembered a story someone at school had talked about before Dudley had beaten them to a pulp, something about a witch and a wardrobe? His hands were trembling when he placed them on the small door, and when it vanished, he gasped. What was happening? He took a few deep breaths, and his gaze fell on a small snake. A bright green creature with round eyes, which was staring at him and holding a piece of paper in its mouth.

Harry liked snakes, but snakes did not carry messages. Doors didn’t appear out of nowhere either, so he figured he must have been dreaming. Aunt Petunia would faint if she could see that; it would be brilliant. 

The snake moved closer and nudged his hand, pressing its head against his fingers. 

“Is that for me?” he whispered, and the reptile nodded. Nervous laughter escaped him, but he quickly smothered it, fearing his family would hear. When he took the paper and read it, he could only blink, as if it would help shatter what must have been an illusion. 

_Harry James and Draco Lucius Potter, also known as Harry Jim Evans and Draco Ignis Black, live at Number 3, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_.

What? How?!

Suddenly, the paper disappeared, lights came on where the door had been, revealing a hole and stairs. There were no lamps, only floating bubbles shining in the dark. 

“ _Don’t be scared, hatchling._ ”

Did the snake just… No. Harry didn’t remember hitting his head, but it must have happened, or he was crazy. 

“I’m going mad.”

_“You’re not. You, Harry Potter, are an extraordinary little boy, and I’m here to help you.”_

When Harry spoke again, he noticed that his “s” sounded a bit different, but everything was odd right now anyway. “What’s down there?” 

“ _Help. Trust me. If you want to come back here, you can, but you should take a look._ ”

Harry bit his lower lip. What little boy didn’t like exploring? Harry had so little fun in his life; it was a natural choice. He grabbed the torch he kept under his cot, weakening batteries and all, and followed the snake down the stairs. Maybe he’d find a treasure there, and he’d become rich and leave the Dursleys!

At the bottom, there was a short corridor in which he could easily stand. It was clean, made out of concrete and lacking any spider or other many-legged creature. There was another door there, which he pushed open while the snake _hummed_ , of all things. 

He stepped into a beautiful bathroom—and honestly, all that mattered was the toilet.

“Can I use it?” 

“ _Yes._ ”

The snake even turned around to give him some privacy. There was no way Narnia was a bathroom. But Harry, who was used to the dirty bucket in his cupboard, wasn’t surprised that a toilet would feature so prominently in his dreams. 

He washed his hands after using it, and the snake looked at him.

“ _Hatchling, is it alright if we talk? I need to explain a few things._ ”

Eager to know more about what was happening, even if it was a dream, Harry sat on the floor and let the snake crawl into his lap.

_“So, did you see that you have new neighbours?”_

Harry nodded.

“ _They know what the Dursleys do to you. How they treat you._ ” Harry’s heart started beating too fast. “ _They’re not happy about it, so they cursed them._ ”

“Magic isn’t real,” he replied with a small frown. It sounded stupid, though, with those clearly magical lights floating above him and the talking snake and the door and _everything_.

“ _It is. You’ll see. I promise, your neighbours mean you no harm. You will witness many strange things here, and they will explain them all._ ”

Alright. His neighbours were magic. They’d done something to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. He sucked in a breath. “Did they curse my family to ignore me?”

“ _Convenient, isn’t it?_ ”

There was no word to describe what Harry was feeling. There was a foreign warmth in his chest and a tightness in his throat. He wanted to cry, laugh and dance. He was free. In the back of his mind, he started to realise that the tiles he was sitting on were real. 

“I’m not dreaming?”

“ _You’re not. I swear._ ”

He hated how his chin wobbled. Blinking back tears, he thought about the slaps he wouldn’t get, the food he could steal without consequences. 

“ _Hatchling, when I said these people are magic, I meant they can also turn into animals. I’m not a real snake. Can I turn back and speak to you as a human?_ ”

Numbness spread in his limbs like nothing could surprise him anymore. He jerked his head a little and then, the snake grew and morphed into a man, who gave him a small smile.

He was wearing ripped jeans, mismatched socks and a green jumper that looked very soft. His skin was just like Harry’s, another reason why Aunt Petunia didn’t like him. Even his eyes were the same! And he seemed very kind.

Harry didn’t know why, but he trusted him instantly, and he did not trust adults, ever. 

“Hi, Harry. I’m you from the future.”

***

It took ten minutes for Harry to stop laughing hysterically and ten more to understand that this man was him. And he had to believe it because he knew things Harry had never told anyone, about the cupboard and the spiders and Harry’s hopes and feelings, all the times he had wished he could fall asleep and never wake up when he was tiny and wanted to join his parents. How he didn’t remember what a hug felt like. Had he even been hugged in his life?

The man told him the truth about his parents, about why he lived with his horrible family, about a school called Hogwarts, about magic. Harry cried like he’d never cried before. Held tightly in a pair of strong arms, he let go of everything and didn’t feel a hint of shame. The man was him, after all. He must have cried, too. 

Older Harry didn’t say a word until Harry calmed down, and when he did, he just offered him a tissue. Harry had been forced to be strong, mocked for showing emotions, so he had built walls around his heart—and his older self had just shattered them. If older Harry looked like this, then things must have gotten better for him, right? Hope, so often squashed all these years, flared in his chest, bright and burning.

Sniffling, he asked the first question that came to his mind, wondering how to call the man. 

“Well, we’re going to pretend we’re not the same person, of course. I have a fake name, Harry Jim Evans. Evans was Mum’s name, too.”

Oh! He had so many questions, now that he knew his parents hadn’t been drunks! He fidgeted, and older Harry chuckled. 

“I’ll tell you all about her and Dad, but let’s do things in the right order. Do you want to call me Cousin Harry? Or Uncle?” Both grimaced at the same time. “No, that’s like being Dudley or Vernon. Call me Jim.”

That could work. He stared at the man expectantly. 

“Okay. So, I came back in time to help you, because I know how life is for you and you don’t deserve this. But because of the protection on the house, I couldn’t just take you away.”

“So you dug a tunnel?”

“I did. This is your bathroom and next door, there’s an entire room just for you. You never need to go back into the cupboard.”

Harry stood up. It was his? A bathroom? “No more bucket?”

“No more bucket.”

He touched the sink, taking it all in. It looked even more beautiful now; he was in awe. Reverently, he admired the designs on the tiles, seashells and fossils that made the bathroom look like it came straight from an ancient Roman home. Harry remembered it because they’d just learned about mosaics and past civilisations in school. He couldn’t wait to see his room. 

_Jim_ must have known that because he stood up and led him out. Harry wondered why this house had a basement, but when the door next to the bathroom opened, he forgot every question he wanted to ask.

The room was so big! And the bed? Even Dudley’s was smaller. The quilt cover had drawings that moved! People on brooms, flying, chasing a little ball with wings. The shelves were heavy with books, and the carpet was soft under his feet. 

“Everything here is yours. These books were mine when I was at Hogwarts. I want you to decorate this room as you please. If you want toys, books, anything, let me know, and I’ll get them for you. At first. Afterwards, it’ll be for birthdays and special occasions.” 

He couldn’t wrap his mind around that. “I get— I can— but?” His breath was raspy. Jim hugged him again, and Harry hugged back, tight enough to be uncomfortable, maybe. 

“You’ll be happy, Harry. So very happy. I want to give you what I didn’t have.”

“S—so I’ll live here? Always?”

“For as long as you want.”

“What about school?” School meant Dudley. It meant teachers who thought he was lazy, who blamed him for every little thing.

Jim kissed his hair. Again, a first, he thought. “If you don’t want to go back, you don’t have to. I’m ready to homeschool you until Hogwarts.”

Harry almost laughed when he felt tears running down his face once more. How weird was it, to think that the person who was kind enough to defy time for him would be himself. “Yes! Please! I don’t want to go back.”

“Then it’s settled. Do you want to eat something?”

Smearing tears and snot on Jim’s shirt, Harry shook his head. “‘m not very hungry.”

“Mh. Some soup later, maybe? We’ll start healing all the damage Vernon and Petunia did to you. How about a shower? A real one with hot water? For as long as you like. When you’re done, I’ll introduce you to someone.”

Hot water? He was in heaven. He would meet anyone Jim wanted him to meet.

***

Draco was beautiful. Was it okay to say that about a boy? Harry didn’t know, but he couldn’t believe his future self was married to him. He was so lucky! Would he end up marrying the young version of Draco when he grew up? Would they be friends? 

Jim didn’t answer that. He was tight-lipped about himself. Instead, he said that what he’d lived through wouldn’t be the same for Harry, so he didn’t want to push him in a direction that might not lead anywhere. Harry didn’t understand it all, but he agreed to be patient. He was good at waiting. 

Draco was snarky in a funny way and didn’t smile a lot. He must have built walls around his heart, too, but Jim seemed good at passing right through them. And Draco was a great teacher, even if he complained that he didn’t like it. He never went down the basement. He said he couldn’t get past the wards, but he always made a face when Harry asked why, so Harry didn’t pry. 

It was December now. For the past two months, Harry had lived the life he should have had from the start—and he still struggled with the truth, the fact that he was not a freak, that he deserved to be happy and loved, but it was getting easier every day. Jim and Draco had taken care of everything, taking him out of the school system by using magic on Aunt Petunia to make her sign some papers. Because he willingly called the basement home, the blood wards were strengthening. He spent most of his time learning with Jim and Draco, who must have been very rich not to have jobs to go to. He was getting a normal education (Muggle was the word, apparently), but the best part of his days was when magic came into play.

Harry learned magical theory and watched it in action. Jim didn’t want him to practice too much at first, but soon he would be authorised to use Jim’s wand. Harry’s excitement at the prospect grew every day. After Christmas, Jim had said.

Jim and Draco could make chairs dance, they could turn fishes into birds, and they brewed potions! Well, Draco did. When Jim tried to help, Draco always pushed him away and told Harry that Jim had been really, really bad at potions at school. Harry had noticed that Draco liked to annoy Jim, but Jim was never mad at him. Even when they called each other names. Harry had often been called names, but not like that.

Harry thought Jim must have been very unlucky not to have a Jim and Draco of his own to learn potions properly: potions were so much fun! He liked it when they changed colours and bubbled. Sometimes, they made noises that sounded like farts and Harry would laugh hysterically. And Draco had a _gold_ cauldron! It was shiny, and Harry wanted one.

The house was changing. At first, it was a bit like a country home where Harry expected to find chickens in the garden, but it was still _normal_. Now, though, it felt like the house was alive. Everywhere Harry looked, there was magic. Draco was using glass jars and tubes like the ones Harry had seen at the doctor to store herbs and potions ingredients. There were some nasty things in there (like real eyes! And _brains_!), but Draco kept them in a cupboard because Jim said he didn’t want to see that when they were eating. 

There were moving pictures of him, Draco and Jim on the walls, but also one of his parents dancing. The vacuum cleaner worked all on its own, too, and it took one flick of a wand to do the laundry, a bit like in the movie Fantasia. Jim and Draco had explained that a lot of wizards didn’t know about Muggle things and couldn’t use electrical appliances, because they hadn’t found a way to make them work around magic. But Jim and Draco came from the future, where this wasn’t a problem anymore. So, Harry’s life was filled with a mixture of Muggle and magical things, and he loved it.

All over the house, dried herbs and flowers were hanging on the walls, and magical plants proliferated outside. Harry had been told that magic attracted certain types of creatures and plants that he should be careful not to touch. He agreed that the Mimbulus Mimbletonia wasn’t friendly. It spewed some gross pus all over him once. 

He liked the Snargaluff pods and leaping toadstools, though. And the gnome. There was only one, but it seemed to live there now. Jim said that the Muggles couldn’t see the real garden and the real house, which was good, because when the gnome destroyed Aunt Petunia’s flowerbeds, she had no idea it came from Harry’s new home. Harry may or may not have thrown the gnome over the fence to see what would happen.

Today, Harry was wearing robes because he liked looking like a real wizard. He wanted to be elegant like Draco. Often, they would team up because Jim was very bad at dressing himself, but Jim had made an effort today. That was good. Harry understood everything about good first impressions. Uncle Vernon always said it was essential, and Draco excelled at it; Harry didn’t want to imitate Uncle Vernon and didn’t think his moustache made him as distinguished as Vernon believed. Draco had said it made him look like a walrus.

Jim kneeled in front of Harry and ruffled his hair, smiling. “Are you ready?”

He didn’t know, but he nodded. His throat was tight. He was going to meet his Godfather, Sirius. Until last week, he didn’t even know he had one! Jim had been very stressed but hadn’t told him why, except that Sirius was in prison because of Peter, the one who had betrayed Harry’s parents.

Jim took Harry’s hand and waited in the entrance hall, next to the mantlepiece that could dry clothes in five seconds. For once, Harry felt like he was the one reassuring his older self.

The door opened, revealing Draco with his fake face, and another man who was very thin and very pale, with long hair like Jim’s. He had Draco’s eyes. Harry remembered the stories about Draco’s family; Sirius was his cousin, and he was the brother of Regulus Black, who was a hero in many of Jim’s stories and owned an insane elf. Harry liked hearing about Kreacher. 

Sirius focused on Harry instantly, saying his name with a broken voice, as if he hadn’t talked for a long time. “You—you look so much like James!”

Harry knew that by now, but he still enjoyed hearing it. He smiled, suddenly shy.

“Can I hold your hand?”

Harry, instead of offering his hands, stepped forward and hugged the man. Sirius shuddered against him and embraced him so tightly that it almost hurt, but Harry let him. He knew Sirius needed hugs. He’d lost all his friends and had just gotten out of a horrible prison. And the embrace brought a familiarity that made Harry relax instantly and burrow his face in the crook of Sirius’ neck. He didn’t remember any detail about his time with his parents, but he recognised _something_ about Sirius.

He also understood how much Sirius loved him at that moment, and his magic sung.

***

Draco came home with a satisfied smirk stretching his lips, stepping over Padfoot who had, as always, found an awkward spot for his nap. He could hear the sound of spaceships coming from the living room, now that Little Harry had discovered Star Wars and watched the movies regularly, and he could smell roasted vegetables. He tiptoed into the kitchen, finding _his_ Harry in an apron, wearing jeans that framed his arse perfectly. Kissing the back of his neck and slipping his hands around his waist, fingers dipping lower, he hummed. 

“Did you burn those? What is it, onions?” There was a bowl with charred remnants of _something_ set aside.

Harry leaned back, pressing his back against Draco’s torso. “Maybe.” He lowered the heat under the pan and turned around, tangling his fingers in Draco’s hair. “How did it go?”

The smirk grew. “Well, Little Me is absolutely fascinated by the moon landing and Mother will take him on a tour of the Kennedy Space Centre. Father is livid, of course.”

“Did you tell him about Disney World?”

“What do you think?”

There weren’t many ways to introduce Little Draco to the Muggle world and hold his interest. He was already following Lucius’ footsteps, knowing absolutely nothing about what lay beyond Malfoy Manor and believing his family was superior to all others. Draco could work with that: familial superiority was better than blood supremacy. That part came during his first year at Hogwarts when Granger kept beating his scores. He still had some time. 

With that in mind, he’d reached out to Mother, claiming to wish to meet his long lost family. Just as he’d thought, she hid their correspondence from Father. After finally agreeing to see him and testing him with a vow, she was seemingly satisfied. Draco swore he was part of the Black family. Mother always knew more than she let on and might already have guessed who he was because she agreed to let him see Little Draco.

From then on, Draco had become one of his young self’s tutors. He’d been astonished when Mother let him teach him about technology and Muggle history. Lucius disapproved; however, he had little leeway when it came to Mother, as she had more sway over him than most people thought.

Harry kissed him softly, bringing him back to the present.

“Gross,” little Harry groaned, and Padfoot barked in agreement.

Draco’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at the dog. “I knew you weren’t sleeping, mutt.”

Transforming back into a man, Sirius shrugged. “I live to annoy you.” He’d taken the news of their time travelling shenanigans and their marriage with an equal amount of disbelief.

Adult Harry rolled his eyes and turned around again before the rest of the vegetables joined the burnt onions in the bowl. “Can one of you set the table?”

Little Harry frowned. “I set it this morning!”

“And?”

“And it’s Padfoot’s turn!”

“It is not!”

“Yes, it _is_!”

“Both of you are toddlers,” Draco sighed, walking away and summoning the cutlery. 

Sirius and Little Harry were thick as thieves. The ex-convict could sometimes appear childish, but Draco’s fears on that side had been settled when he’d heard him convince the child that attempting to become an Animagus before he was at least thirteen was idiotic. Knowing that his adult self could turn into a snake had created a slight obsession that Sirius had successfully dampened, for now. 

Both of them were now pouting, and it would be funny if it didn’t happen so often. Thankfully, it never lasted: they were both helpful, even if Sirius could be quite pig-headed. He was still struggling with the effects of the Dementors and the reality of a Malfoy sleeping with his adult godson. Said Malfoy did get him a trial and gave Pettigrew to the Aurors, but grudges were hard to get rid of.

They were about to eat when an owl tapped at the window. Sirius opened it to let the bird fly inside, and Little Harry shouted in delight, soon holding his Hogwarts letter. Draco exchanged a glance with his husband, who was smiling wistfully. He took his hand under the table and squeezed.

“Mr H. Potter, the Basement, 3, Little Whinging, Surrey. I’m going to Hogwarts!”

Was it odd, to feel proud of something that would have happened anyway? In the past two years, the child had gone from a version of Harry who needed saving, to someone Draco saw almost as a son. He’d never thought this day would make him emotional, but now he was the one who needed a hug.

“Still up for exorcising Quirrell?” Adult Harry whispered in Draco’s ear.

Mouth set in a grim line, he nodded. Their little boy wouldn’t meet the Dark Lord this year.

He already missed the little urchin, Draco realised with a sharp twinge in his heart.

***

As soon as the train left King’s Cross station, Harry rushed out of his compartment and ran. His heart was beating so fast! He wanted to meet the small version of Draco. He’d been told not to expect him to be nice, but Harry thought it was dumb because the big version was only prickly on the surface. Like a giant cactus. Jim was so lucky. 

He wished his guardians could have come with him to Diagon Alley, but Jim always said it was risky. If he met a Goblin, the Goblin’s magic would know he was a time-traveller—something about Gringott’s branding him an enemy because he stole a dragon. A dragon! Harry would never do that, would he? Padfoot thought it was hilarious, of course, but Padfoot laughed at everything. So, Harry had gone shopping for his school things with his Godfather. Who had stolen a gold cup from his cousin’s vault. It wasn’t really _stolen_ , he'd said, because his cousin was in Azkaban and Padfoot was the Heir of his family line.

It made Harry gleeful: Padfoot liked shiny things too, that was one more thing they had in common. 

Harry had bought his wand and his own potions ingredients. He was so excited about brewing! Then Padfoot had bought him an owl and Harry had fallen in love with her. Her name was Hedwig, and seeing her had made Jim cry and smile and hug Padfoot. Hedwig was smart and seemed to know Harry and Jim were the same person: she groomed their hair the same way and was always around one of them.

She was on his shoulder now, flapping her wings when Harry moved a bit too fast for her. Hedwig didn’t need a cage or a perch in the compartment. She had her human perch. Harry didn’t mind one bit. 

He slowed down to peek into each compartment. Some were open, and others had the blinds shut. He didn’t want to bother people, so he didn’t knock. When he reached the end of the train, he was a bit disheartened and had gained a companion, a girl with hair worse than his, who talked so quickly and so much that she was giving him a headache. He just figured out she was looking for a toad. Having no sense of propriety (like Draco would say), she barged into the next compartment, asking if anyone had seen the wayward animal. Before Harry could apologise on her behalf, he heard her gasp.

“Oh! You’re reading about space exploration!” She made her way into the compartment, and Harry stayed back, embarrassed.

Then he saw Draco, and the world stood still. He was tiny and had a weird haircut, and his nose was very pointy. Draco’s expression was a mixture of horror and interest, and he was trying to flatten himself against the wall because the girl would not stop leaning over him to look at the book he was holding. Fortunately, he didn’t have to tell her anything, because a girl with short black hair pushed her away from him. 

“Can you act civilised or were you raised in a barn? Honestly!”

“Oh! I’m sorry. My name is Hermione Granger, I just found out I was a witch, and it’s so fascinating, and I didn’t expect to see anyone with a book published in the normal world, and I’ve read it as well so I thought maybe I could help you understand it—”

Draco’s eyes were wide, and his nostrils flared. “How dare you? I understand it perfectly well! I’ll have you know Mother and I visited the Kennedy Space Centre, can you say the same?”

The black-haired girl sneered. “Can you leave? We don’t need your sort here.”

“My sort?”

Even if he didn’t want to, Harry stepped forward and put his hand on Hermione’s shoulder. He looked at the other first years and took a deep breath. “I’m really sorry; we’re just excited. We didn’t mean to come in here. We were just looking for a toad.” He then glanced at Hermione, who was finally speechless. “Hermione, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Harry Potter.”

You could have heard a pin drop. He spotted Draco’s mouth opening and closing like a fish (undignified, his adult self would say) and before Hermione could speak again, which she fully intended to do if the gleam in her eyes was anything to go by, he continued: “I hope we can all be friends.” He extended his hand.

Draco shook it. And that was how Harry met Pansy, Vincent and Gregory too.

When Ron Weasley, left on his own in their original compartment, found Harry again, Harry apologised for leaving and invited him to sit next to him. The compartment was crowded, snide glances were exchanged, but each time someone said something nasty, Hedwig screeched and looked ready to murder them. It was an effective method.

By the end of the train ride, Draco and Hermione were arguing about something called physics that completely went over Harry’s head, Vincent and Ron were in a food coma, Greg was covered in empty candy wrappers, and Harry was exchanging chocolate frog cards with Pansy. 

It was a great day.

***

_Jim, Draco, Padfoot,_

_I have Dad’s bed! Thanks for telling me to check the initials on the bedpost. I’m sharing the dorm with Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. Neville is very quiet, but I really like him a lot. Jim, were you friends with him? I know you don’t want to tell me about them, I’m just curious. Did you know that his grandmother wanted to give him his dad’s old wand? Apparently, she received a letter this summer and changed her mind, but can you imagine? Poor Neville. It’s so dangerous._

_I met Ron on the train, and he was very excited because I’m Harry Potter. It’s okay, he’s teaching me how to play chess. He has a huge family! They all have red hair and lots of freckles, and Ron says they’re poor, but he doesn’t like talking about it. It’s fine. I know how it feels. I bought lots of sweets to share with him._

_Oh! Remind me to tell you about the girl who can’t stop talking and all the food on the train! It was brilliant!_

_Draco has an owl named Hubble, and he’s a Ravenclaw. Was that your house, too?_

_The hat wanted to put me in Hufflepuff so I said I’d tell Padfoot it was all its fault and it told me I should go to Slytherin because I was a sly little monster. Anyway, it said Gryffindor in the end._

_Bye! Love you!_

_Harry_

***

“Did you get the locket?” Draco asked, choosing not to move from his position on his husband’s lap.

Sirius shot him a poisonous glare and showed him his forearm, which was red with darker indentations in several spots. “Kreacher bit me!”

Harry squeezed Draco’s waist and grinned, eyes shining in amusement. “You didn’t tell him. You just grabbed it.”

“I forgot, alright? My mother’s portrait was screaming at me, and I wasn’t prepared!” His eyes roamed over both of them. “And I didn’t need to see you two in that position, ever!”

“Don’t be so dramatic. You’ve seen worse.”

“Please Obliviate me.”

Draco stood up, kissed Harry and buttoned his trousers, then walked up to the dog Animagus and took the locket from him. It felt more malevolent than Little Harry’s scar and much more powerful, but it was no match for an Unspeakable. 

“I’ll be right back.” He left the house, heading into the garden, then called Dobby.

“Mr Draco Sir! What can Dobby do for you?” 

He winked. Dobby, like all House Elves of the Manor, knew his real identity, but couldn’t speak of it. Magic prevented it because they could feel that Draco should be their Master. “I need access to the ritual chamber. Are the Malfoys home?”

“Did Mr Draco find another evil object?”

“Perhaps.”

“Dobby be bringing Mr Draco to the Manor! Master Lucius and Mistress Cissa be visiting the Greengrasses.”

For the fifth time, Draco entered the chamber that his ancestors had built for purposes he didn’t approve of. He did have to thank them, though, for giving him the perfect place to destroy Horcruxes without endangering anyone or anything. A spiral was carved in the rough stone floor, runes etched around it.

He placed the locket in the centre of the spiral, where the cup, the ring and the diary had burned. Activating one rune out of three with a drop of his blood created a trap so the soul shard couldn’t attempt to attack or ensnare him. He’d developed this technique with Harry’s help when they’d removed the Horcrux from Little Harry’s scar a week after he came to live with them. Without this trap, Privet Drive would have gone up in flames. It was much easier to have a curse-proof room available, though.

“Fiendfyre,” he whispered, his wand ready, magic coursing through his veins. “ _Ignis Daemonium_. Rise and devour.”

When the locket was only a pile of ashes and melted metal, he vanished it and asked Dobby to bring him back home.

Sirius, who was busy trying to compose a letter (probably to Lupin, and he’d likely never send it, the coward), didn’t look at him, only grunting in greetings. Harry, however, embraced him and breathed in the scent of his neck. Draco clung to his shirt. 

“Just the diadem left,” he murmured.

Harry pressed soft kisses on his neck, along his jaw, then on his lips, gorgeous green eyes gleaming. “Sirius will get it for us next year. I’m so proud of you.”

He felt himself flush. “Are you sure it’s wise to replace a peacock with another?”

“Do _you_ want our tiny selves to learn all about Lockhart’s books?”

Draco shuddered at the thought.

From the living room, Sirius swore and yelled at them: “I hate both of you. I am not a peacock, and I don’t want to be Snivellus’ colleague!”

“Shut up and write your letter,” Draco drawled, before tugging Harry towards the stairs. “Don’t come upstairs, we’re busy.”

“Silencing charms, please.”

Harry laughed, and by the time they reached their room, Draco was already moaning.

***

_Dear Jim and Draco,_

_You didn’t need to worry, because Padfoot is a great teacher. Snape doesn’t think so, and he’s being real mean, but he can’t take points because when he does, Padfoot checks the ledger and if it’s not fair, he gives back double the amount. And I’m very, very good at potions, so he doesn’t have an excuse. I’m not like Seamus. Did you know he already melted two cauldrons this year? And he made a potion explode and now there’s a hole in his desk and the ceiling._

_Professor Dumbledore suspects something, I think. He keeps asking me if I know Padfoot from somewhere and he gives me lemon drops. I didn’t tell him, but I’m sure he’ll come looking. I’ve been careful, and I don’t think he can see into my head._

_Hermione is in love with a book series by someone named Gilderoy Lockhart and Draco is reaaally annoyed. They used to talk about space all the time (they like to rant about the Astronomy lessons being inaccurate and outdated and are always using a lot of very big words I don’t remember). Now Hermione only talks about these books. Draco hates it, he hates the author, and I tried to read Year with the Yeti, and I agree with him._

_Draco’s mum told him that Lockhart had applied to be the Defense teacher this year. Did you have him? How are you alive?_

_I need to go._

_Harry_

***

_Jim!_

_Draco is a big prat because he caught the Snitch before me. Ron punched him on the nose, and Professor Flitwick gave him a week’s detention. To Ron, not Draco._

_I’m glad Draco is happy, but Oliver looks like someone died because Ravenclaw won._

_Oops._

_Harry_

***

_Hi Jim, hi Draco!_

_Hermione and Draco had a bonfire with Lockhart’s books because they analysed the timeline and figured out_ _he was ~~full of shit~~_ ~~_crap_~~ _he was a lying sack of bubotuber pus._

_I got the Marauder’s Map from the twins, and it recognised that another copy of itself existed in the world and now it believes that someone pulled a prank on it. Dad is so proud._

_I thought you’d like to know!_

_Love,_

_Harry_

***

_Dear Jim and Draco,_

_Did you know Moony and Padfoot used to date? No? Well, now, you do._

_Professor McGonagall gave them both detentions for snogging in a broom cupboard. Professor Flitwick told her they weren’t students, and she said she’d forgotten, but Nevertheless, Mr Black and Mr Lupin, you will be cleaning the Great Hall with a toothbrush tonight. And Snape LAUGHED!_

_I didn’t know he could do that._

_So, yeah, they’re back together. Padfoot should have sent these letters before Moony took the Muggle studies position. I didn’t notice anything but Lavender says they’ve been pining for MONTHS._

_I’m going to_ ~~_play chess_ ~~ _do my homework now._

_Love,_

_Harry._

***

_Hi Draco,_

_Yes, I went to the ball with Theo. I didn’t know the Prophet would be there! I’m sorry, but your mini-me thought it would be "unseemly" to go with us. What was I supposed to do? Theo asked me first._

_Harry_

***

_Hi Jim and Draco!_

_You won, I went to Hogsmeade with small-ish Draco. He’s not small anymore. He’s taller than me—just a bit._

_Well, you half-won, because we also took Theo with us. I’m telling you before you read the morning paper which, I’m sure, has a beautiful headline about the perversions of Hogwarts._

_Lavender said it’s good that I finally woke up. She said I’m worse than Padfoot and Moony with all the pining. That’s okay, she also thinks Draco and Theo were too proud to say anything._

_But they’re all lying, the Prophet, and Lavender, and everyone: we’re NOT dating! Theo is dating Daphne and Draco is dating his astronomy books._

_We just decided it would be fun to prank the Prophet. And you. And Draco’s dad. Did you know he was fired from the Board of Governors?_

_Love,_

_Harry_

***

Draco’s hand rested on the small of Harry’s back, pressing gently against the soft fabric of his robes. He briefly closed his eyes to appreciate the heat of the sun on his face, knowing it was the last time he’d feel it in this timeline.

He breathed in the scent of Harry’s shampoo and looked at him, finding him smiling at the witches and wizards dancing in the grass. His hair was still long, but the grey streaks were broad and had spread to his short beard. He kissed the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, and Harry smiled at him.

“Did I ever thank you for doing this for me?” he asked, twisting Draco around to embrace him. 

Draco smirked and tightened his hold on him. “Not nearly enough, Scarhead.”

“Git.”

“I’m your git.”

A long sigh interrupted them. “Can you _not_?”

They broke apart, finding Sirius glowering at them and Remus shaking his head. To their left, Tonks and Charlie Weasley were dancing with their daughter, who had inherited the Metamorphmagus ability but could only change her hair into different shades of red. Viktor Krum was trying to fend off a starstruck Oliver Wood, Molly attempted to feed Pansy and Ginny was listening to Hermione (Granger-Krum) with rapt attention. She was probably talking about the physics of Quidditch.

“I’m sorry, Padfoot,” Harry said with a wide grin. “I thought you were still visiting the Manor’s bathroom. You know, the one with the massaging bathtub.”

His Godfather perked up and dragged Remus away under Mother’s unamused glance. Draco stifled a laugh, and when Mother was busy sharing tales of his childhood’s shenanigans with Aunt Andromeda, he laced his fingers with Harry’s and started walking away before Dumbledore could bother them. After discovering the truth about Number 3, Privet Drive, which had become necessary when the shade of the Dark Lord had forever been banished to the realm of the dead, the Headmaster kept trying to invite them for tea.

It was positively maddening.

“Little Harry will be angry at you,” Harry hummed.

“He just married Nott! I don’t care!”

Harry laughed and kissed Draco’s cheek. “He married little Draco, too.”

“Yes, the third-wheel, the lonesome prince, the cursed beauty, the mad genius—”

“Who is very happy with his new husbands.” 

Draco sniffed, nose in the air. He hid it well, but Harry could always see right through him. Secretly, Draco was delighted that his mini-him (not so mini anymore) had seen the light and said yes to a triad marriage. Mother was ecstatic, and Father had reluctantly agreed to have the ceremony on the Manor’s grounds. This version of Draco had made him age prematurely by getting a Muggle degree and collaborating with Hermione on the Wizarding Space Project. 

He was proud of himself. Muggles may have gone to the Moon, but Wizards would be setting foot on Titan within the next few months. In a way, he wasn’t looking forward to going back to a world where Astronomy at Hogwarts was still taught with cheap brass telescopes and old charts.

They walked until they reached the edge of the Malfoy property, and Harry squeezed his hand. “Are you ready?”

 _Am I ready to be an ex-Death Eater again?_ No.

 _Am I ready to go back to our lives, knowing there’s a version of me, somewhere in the universe, who has never known war?_ Yes.

He let Harry kiss him and nodded. He’d done all that for him, thinking there was no way back. When it turned out there was, he’d worked tirelessly to make it possible.

On the other side, he knew Mother was waiting. Teddy, too, who needed his Godfather. 

He grabbed the runestones in his pocket. “Let’s go home.”

***

“Ferret! Where the fuck have you been and why do you look so bloody old?”

“Aah, yes, Weasel, how I missed the sweet sound of your voice.”

“Ron, honestly! Draco, Harry, why didn’t you owl us? You’re lucky Kreacher was there to put out the fire, you’d left the kettle on! The Headmistress had to send Teddy home and this is a huge disruption in his studies!”

Harry started laughing, a child with bright blue hair clinging to his waist, and Draco’s smirk turned into a relieved smile when he looked around.

Those small windows he always forgot to clean, the curtains that Harry didn’t want to get rid of, the pictures on the walls, the framed Potter Stinks badge and the painting of Hedwig…

They were home. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](https://penguinanimagus.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/FuzzyJawa), so feel free to come and scream at me!  
> \----------  
> Background polyamory is between the young versions of Harry, Draco and Theo Nott, and does not involve the main Harry and Draco, who are monogamous.


End file.
